


Kizuna

by cloverfield



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: 2nd person POV, Bondage, Headcanon Ficathon, KuroFai, KuroFai Event, M/M, NSFW, Post-Series, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your first instinct is to fight it, but you don't, you can't- and that's the best thing about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kizuna

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Headcanon Ficathon over at the kurofai comm on DW, for the prompt 'Kuro-sama likes being tied up.' Considering this is a headcanon I share, I could hardly help myself. I have no regrets.
> 
> Consider this to take place in Nihon, some time post-series.

The lantern gutters, flame flickering and low, and about your throat the cord tightens. Slowly, too slowly, in perfect contrast to how your breath quickens.  
  
Your first instinct is to fight it ( _thrash and struggle and fight; lash out with everything you have in you_) but you don’t, you  _can’t_ -  
  
-and that’s the best thing about it.  
  
“Look at me,” murmurs Fai, one finger tilting your chin up; as your head lifts your bindings pull taut in so many small ways, a rasp of silk-on-silk ( _the drape of his sleeve, his hands shaking as he loosens the obi wrapped tight around his hips_ ) and of silk-on-skin ( _the fall of his robes, shivering open across his chest and pooling soft across his thighs_ ) that drives you to sheer distraction.  
  
“Stay with me, Kuro-sama,” he whispers, and that too is like silk, like the fall of his hair as it brushes your cheek, cloud-soft and floating about his face as he leans in close; on his knees before you on the futon you share, there is nowhere you can look but blue eyes ( _kissed by lantern-light, deep and dark and wanting; whole and shadowed and unafraid_) and nowhere you would want to besides.  
  
His hands fall to your shoulders, your chest, languid and almost drowsy in their movements as they flow across the pattern he has woven here, and red cord bites tight into your aching flesh with every breath, the sweet pain of it ( _his breath, hot on your throat; his teeth, so desperate and sharp_ ) winding down every part of you as his fingers drift down to the knots that bind your arms behind your back.  
  
There is no sensation in metal, but the sight of the silk rope, pulled taut and wound delicately over steel cable and pistons both, lurches thick in your stomach- the greatest technology you have ever seen in all your travels ( _greater than any vehicle or weapon ever to exist; with this hand, with this strength, you can protect that which matters to you_) rendered still and helpless by one man alone.  
  
“Oh,” sighs Fai, soft and airy; his hands tremble down the weavings that wrap your torso, little tremors that travel like lightning across the skin beneath. Every part of you is left wanting, and when his nails scrape just lightly over the slope of your thighs ( _over your back, your shoulders, left clawing in your hair; his mouth a burning brand against the arch of your throat, where your pulse beats a desperate crescendo_ ) you can’t fight the shudder that takes you- nor the pleading sound that leaves your throat.  
  
He groans in response, thick and shaky and straining through his teeth; his eyes flash gold, the light of the lantern pooling a storm of heat and hunger in his gaze. There is no warning when he takes the trail of loose rope that spills slack over one shoulder and yanks it brutally tight, and the pleasure that rolls in your belly ( _lashes as taut as the rope_ ) is the thunder on the horizon, the kisses that fall to your skin ( _restrained and patterned and made so completely his_) the first fall of heavy rain on parched ground that beckons the flood.  
  
When you can breathe again, you speak. “More.” There is no shame in your voice, and nor should there be. In this space you have no room for it, not with his hands on you ( _not after all you have been for him, not after all you have become because of him, no shame, not ever_).  
  
“Yes,” he says, made breathless with wanting. In his hands, your bindings draw tighter still, and this snare is not one you would be free of. “Oh, Kuro-sama,  _yes._ ”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Kizuna_ means 'the ties that bind', and is used to indicate the bonds and relationships that develop between people. 
> 
> (I... may have a slight thing for KuroFai in a BDSM context. May have. Yes.)


End file.
